
Gass, T6 re. >^ i 
Book . ,Cfe I 



The selections from the writings of 
Longfellow are used by permission of 
and by special arrangement with Hough- 
ton, Mifflin, and Co., the authorized 
publishers of Longfellow's works, — a 
courtesy which the author acknowledges 
with gratitude. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introduction 9 

Chapter I. 
Birthplace 13 

Chapter II. 
Boyhood 26 

Chapter III. 
Education and Travels 38 

Chapter IV. 
Prose Works, Marriage, Call to 
Harvard 51 

Chapter V. 
Life in Cambridge and Poems 64 

Chapter VI. 
Evangeline 76 

Chapter VII. 
Poetic Activity 89 

Chapter VIII. 
Hiawatha 102 

(5) 



Chapter IX. page 

Courtship of Miles Standish 117 

Chapter X. 
Tales of a Wayside Inn, and 
Fl'eur-de-Luce 125 

Chapter XL 
Closing Activities 132 

Chapter XII. 
Some Selections from the Poems of 
Lonsffellow 145 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Portrait of Henry Wadsworth 

Longfellow Frontispiece. 

Longfellow House, Portland Maine. 14 

Longfellow's Birthplace 17 

Longfellow House, Cambridge, 

Mass 67 

Wayside Inn, Sudbury, Mass 126 



(7) 



INTRODUCTION. 

The story of a beautiful life is pre- 
eminently precious. It is a constant 
incentive to aspiring faith and an unfail- 
ing source of guidance. 

No method of education is more po- 
tent for ethical results than the method 
which furnishes the mind of growing 
youth with rich concrete data full of 
human incident and poetic suggestion. 
Through such data the mind is enabled 
to rise to the highest conception of duty 
and the best formulation of morals. 

Longfellow's life is singularly suited 
to this purpose. Its simplicity and its 
purity alike render it wholesome and 
helpful. Its incidents are more than the 
steps in the unfolding of his own career. 
They are unusually valuable as guides 
to others. This narrative is, therefore, 
of great moment to the growing child. 
The author has had the insight of one 
that knows and also loves this life. 
With keen appreciation of childhood's 
(9) 



10 



needs she has selected the most fitting 
incidents for presentation. The presen- 
tation is clear, forceful, and sensible. 
There is a conspicuous absence of friv- 
olous and gossipy material and a sym- 
pathetic narrative of what is, for the 
child, most wholesome and most stimu- 
lating. 

Many selections from Longfellow's 
poems are inserted at such places in the 
text as to give them peculiar force and 
emphasis. These should be studied care- 
fully and then memorized accurately. 
Perhaps no other result of literary 
study is so valuable as the memorizing 
of poems of intrinsic value. These are 
carried through life, and frequently af- 
ford comfort and comjpanionship in the 
hours that are dark and the days that 
are dreary. 

Such an introductory sketch as this 
will quicken in the pupil a desire to 
know more fully the life and lines of 
Longfellow. This is its best service. 
To have early in life a lively concern for 



II 



a great poet is of the greatest signifi- 
cance. The author's highest hopes will 
have be'en realized if her words arouse 
the interest of young minds in this 
American poet, who shares with Whit- 
tier that preeminent quality of the 
great Swiss teacher, Pestalozzi, "the 
piety of the heart." 

It is a pleasure to commend this 
volume, to congratulate its author 
upon her fine discrimination and beau- 
tiful devotion to our gentle poet, and to 
express the wish that it may enjoy the 
wide reception its intrinsic excellencies 
so richly merit.. 

M. G. Brumbaugh. 

University of Pennsylvania, April 14, 
1903. 



GLIMPSES OF LONG- 
FELLOW. 



CHAPTER I. 

BIRTHPLACE. 

By the generosity of Mrs. Anne 
Longfellow Pierce, the poet's sis- 
ter, the Maine Historical Society 
at her death came into posses- 
sion, under certain conditions, of 
the old mansion on Congress street, 
Portland, Maine, known as the 
Wadsworth-Longfellow house. 

The members of the Longfellow 
family sensitive to the rude gaze of 
a curious crowd admitted only a 
chosen few of the many lovers 
of the poet. As a consequence, 
since August i, 1901, when the 
property passed under the control 
(13) 



14 



of the society before mentioned 
and was thrown open to the pub- 
lic, hundreds have made the pil- 
gfimage to this shrine of American 
poetr}^ 

The house as it now stands is a 
three-story structure of brick 
shaded by magnificent old arching 
elms. A tablet near the entrance 
tells the following facts : 

House erected bv General Peleg 
Wads worth 1785-6. 

Home of Lieut. Henry Wads- 
worth. 

Birthplace of Com. Alex. S. 
Wadsworth. 

Home of Stephen Longfellow 
and Henry Wadsworth Longfel- 
low. 

When Peleg Wadsworth, the 
maternal grandfather of Longfel- 



15 



low, arrived in Portland in 1784, 
there were very few houses, as no 
attempt had been made to rebuild 
the town since its destruction by a 
British fleet in 1775. The family, 
therefore, were obliged to move 
into a building originally intended 
for a barn, and it was here that 
Henry Wadsworth, the famous 
uncle after whom Longfellow was 
named, began his short but illus- 
trious life. 

Peleg Wadsworth was a general 
merchant, as well as surveyor, and 
with New England thrift he built 
his store and barn and then began 
the erection of his house. At that 
time, 1785, bricks could not be pur- 
chased nearer than Philadelphia, 
and what was supposed to be a suf- 
ficient number was ordered. The 



i6 



walls, sixteen inches thick, swal- 
lowed them much faster than had 
been expected and work had to be 
suspended until the following 
spring, when more brick was ob- 
tained and the house finished. It 
was two stories, had a high pitched 
roof and four chimneys. It was 
very unusual in appearance, as it 
was at that time not only the larg- 
est but the only brick house in 
Portland. In 1815 when Longfel- 
low was eight years of age, it was 
raised to three stories and looks as 
it does to-day. 

The family moved into this com- 
modious house and here in 1804 
their daughter Zilpah was married 
to Stephen Longfellow, a descend- 
ent of William Longfellow, who 
had emigrated from Yorkshire to 



17 



Massachusetts in 1675. For a 
time the young couple remained in 
the home of Mrs. Longfellow's 
father, but soon set up their own 
altar in a house on the corner of 
Congress and Temple streets, where 
their first child, Stephen, was born. 
During the winter of 1806-7 Cap- 
tain Samuel Stephenson, husband 
of Abigail Longfellow, was called 
away on business and the Longfel- 
lows took up their abode in the 
"great square house by the sea" 
with Mrs. Stephenson, where, on 
February 27, 1807, Henry Wads- 
worth Longfellow was bom. 

The house, still standing, is on 
what was then the corner of Front 
and Hancock streets and com- 
manded an unobstructed view of 
Casco Bay. Long since, Commer- 



i8 



cial street has shut out the view 
and Front street has been renamed 
Fore street. 

Many people are under the im- 
pression that the poet was born in 
his grandfather's house instead of 
the "great square house by the sea." 

Portland people tell the follow- 
ing amusing incident : 

A teacher in the public schools 
hoping to impress upon the minds 
of the children the true birthplace, 
described the "square house" which 
was at that time occupied by a fam- 
ily from the Emerald Isle. A few 
days later wishing to test the virtue 
of her teaching she asked where 
Longfellow was born. Instantly a 
little hand went up and a shrill 
treble piped out, "In Patsey Flan- 
nigan's parlor." 



19 



Gen. Wadsworth left Portland in 
the sprino; of 1808 to improve a 
large tract of land granted him by 
the government for his services in 
the Revolutionary War, and the 
Longfellows again took up their 
abode in the house thus vacated,, 
Henry being little more than a year 
old. 

The true lover of Longfellow. 
has a feeling of reverence and awe 
as he crosses the threshold and 
enters the place where so many 
beautiful thoughts and fancies 
were born in the soul of the poet; 
v/here every spot is hallov/ed by 
his association with it, and where 
all his life long he loved to return. 

Here the gentle, sensitive lad 
grew, and his genius with him, un- 
til he was fourteen. Here from the 



20 



front he had an unobstructed view 
of White Head, Fort Preble, and 
Portland lighthouse, while Back 
Cove and the farms and woodlands 
toward the White Mountains met 
his gaze from the rear. 

The house is colonial in style 
with the wide hall running through 
the center on the walls of which 
can be seen the original wall paper 
now over a hundred years old, 
while a shelf under the stairway 
still holds the old fire buckets used 
at that time. The front room on 
the left, the largest then in Port- 
land, has a fireplace generous 
enough for the odorous pine logs 
so plentiful there, deep window 
sills quite comfortable when used 
as modern window seats, and some 
of the old furniture. This room 



21 



is the one where all the social gath- 
erings, weddings, and funerals of 
both families have taken place. 
The room directly back of this has 
been used for various purposes ; as 
a bedroom by Peleg Wadsworth 
and his wife, and later on as a 
workroom by different members of 
the Longfellow family. From the 
windows of this room can be seen 
the vine that ''clings to the moul- 
dering wall" and on an old writing 
desk which still has a place be- 
tween these windows the poet 
wrote The Rainy Day. 

THE RAINY DAY. 

The day is cold, and dark, and 

dreary ; 
It rains and the wind is never 

weary ; 



22 



The vine still clings to the mould- 
ering wall, 

But at every gust the dead leaves 
fall, 

And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark and 
dreary ; 

It rains and the wind is never 
weary ; 

My thoughts still cling to the moul- 
dering past, 

But the hopes of youth fall thick 
and fast, 

And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart ! and cease re- 
pining ; 

Behind the clouds is the sun still 
shining: 

Thv fate is the common fate of all, 



23 

Into each life some rain must fall, 
Some days be dark and dreary. 

The front room on the right has 
always been the living room ex- 
cept during the period when 
Stephen Longfellow used it for a 
law office. Here William Pitt Fes- 
senden, George Pierce, and many 
others came to him as students. 
When it was converted into a law 
office the entrance on the left was 
added so that the family would not 
be disturbed by clients. 

On the second floor the left hand 
front room was generally used by 
Zilpah Longfellow, and was known 
as "Mother's room." In it she 
died. Directly above on the 
third floor is the room occupied by 
Longfellow as a boy, and which he 



24 



always insisted upon having when- 
ever he visited there in after years. 
The room directly back is one of 
the most interesting. Here, traced 
in the most deHcate handwriting, 
still visible on the white paint, are 
some of the poet's earliest verses. 
There are many different dates 
and several poems, but a placard 
warns the visitor neither to copy 
nor photograph. There is no re- 
quest not to memorize, and here are 
two lines: "J^b' 14^ '^^37- -^ 
beautiful sunset of golden clouds." 
Again: ''How dear to my heart is 
the home of my childhood." 

It is the intention of the Maine 
Historical Society to give these 
verses, together with their history, 
to the public at some future date. 



25 



The kitchen is interesting with 
its great deep wide fireplace; its 
Dutch oven, and all the old cook- 
ing utensils of curious design. 
Here too, can be seen the little foot 
stove which was filled with coals 
and carried to church by Henry as 
he walked by his mother's side. A 
massive old English sideboard 
adorns the dining room — ^the old 
law office — and a favorite chair of 
Longfellow's is at the window 
where he used always to sit. 






CHAPTER 11. 

BOYHOOD. 

Longfellow as a boy possessed 
traits of character that developed 
and made his life beautiful in after 
years. "He is remembered," says 
his brother, *'as being active and 
eager though sensitive and impres- 
sionable; quick-tempered, but as 
quickly appeased ; kind-hearted and 
affectionate, — the sunlight of the 
house." "Remarkably soHcitous al- 
ways to do right," wrote his 
mother, while his sister says that 
he was "true, high-minded, and 
noble — never a mean thought or 
act." 

He greatly enjoyed boyish 
games but abhorred loud noises and 
rude play. The story is told that 
(26) 



27 



on one Fourth of July he privately 
begged the maid to put cotton in 
his ears ; but upon being questioned 
about it said that it was not true. 
Later in life a visitor tells that he 
closed the shutters during a thun- 
der storm remarking that he dis- 
liked everything violent. 

His love of order was inherent 
and was a distinctive quality of his 
poetic mind. In The CGinbridge 
Magazine of March 1896 his daugh- 
ter writing of tliis characteristic 
says: 

"The rhythmical quality showed 
itself in an exact order and method, 
running through every detail. This 
was not the precision of a martinet; 
but anything out of place dis- 
tressed him as did a faulty rhyme, 
or defective metre. 



28 



"His library was carefully ar- 
ranged by subjects, and although 
no catalogue was ever made, he was 
never at a loss where to look for 
any needed volume. His books 
were deeply beloved, and tenderly 
handled. Beautiful bindings were 
a great delight, and the leaves were 
cut with the utmost care and neat- 
ness. Letters and bills were kept 
in the same orderly manner. The 
latter were paid as soon as ren- 
dered, and he always personally at- 
tended to those in the neighbor- 
hood. An unpaid bill weighed on 
him like a nightmare. Letters were 
answered day by day, as they accu- 
mulated, although it became often 
a weary task. He never failed, I 
think to keep his account books ac- 
curately, and he also used to keep 
the bank books of the servants in 
his employment, and to help them 
with their accounts." 



29 



When one thinks of the careless, 
slipshod habits of some of our great 
writers this love of order and neat- 
ness in Longfellow commands our 
admiration. It means too that art, 
in any form, and disorder are not 
necessarily synonymous terms. 

Longfellow was particularly 
fortunate in his home which was 
one of culture and refinement. Sur- 
rounded by books and music the 
environment was the best possible 
for an impressionable mind. His 
father's library, though not large, 
was a well selected one with such 
famous persons as Shakespeare, 
Milton, Pope, Dry den. Goldsmith, 
and others of like character occu- 
pying the place and sharing it with 
such noted historians as Hume- 
Gibbon, Robertson, and others. 



30 



The Sunday reading was entirely 
separated and of a different char- 
acter from that of "week-days." 
Mrs. Longfellow with her simple, 
unquestioning faith would gather 
her children about her and read to 
them from the Bible and talk to 
them of its truths. The Psalms 
were her special favorites and as 
she read the lyrical expressions of 
the "sweet Psalmist of Israel" who 
shall say that they did not leave 
distinct impressions on the childish 
mind that unconsciously influenced 
the man? 

The old Portland library also 
contained much that was good and 
the boys used to go there, and 
sometimes received permission to 
go on to Johnson's book store and 



31 



look over the new books that came 
from Boston. 

Every young mind is influenced 
in some degree by what is read and 
Longfellow, when presenting the 
Resolutions on the death of Irving 
before the Massachusetts Historical 
Society, tells of his early impres- 
sions. He said : 

"Every reader has his first book ; 
I mean to say, one book among all 
others which in early youth first 
fascinates his imagination, and at 
once excites and satisfies the de- 
sires of his mind. To me, this 
book was the Sketch-Book of 
Washington Irving. I was a 
school-boy when it was published, 
and read each succeeding number 
vvith ever increasing wonder and 
delight, spell-bound by its pleasant 
humor, its melancholy tenderness, 
its atmosphere of revery — nay. 



32 



even by its gray-brown covers, the 
shaded letters of its titles, and the 
fair, clear type, which seemed an 
outward symbol of its style. How 
many delightful books the same au- 
thor has given us. ... Yet still 
the charm of the Sketch-Book re- 
mains unbroken ; the old fascination 
remains about it; and whenever I 
open its pages, I open that myster- 
ious door which leads back into the 
haunted chambers of youth." 

The influence of Longfellow's 
sister Anne — afterward Mrs. 
Pierce — was another factor in the 
development of his character. To 
her he confided all his joys and 
sorrows, as well as his hopes and 
aspirations, and received from her 
the loving sympathy and encourage- 
ment so necessary to successful 
achievement. In 1820 when he was 
thirteen years of age there appeared 



33 



in The Portland Gazette his first 
printed verses, The Battle of 
Lovell's Pond. It has been as- 
serted so frequently that the silly 
lines about ''Mr. Finney and his 
turnip" were Longfellow's first at- 
tempt at poetry that it may be wise 
to say just here that we have it on 
his own authority that he never 
wrote them. *'The Battle of 
Lovell's Pond" was no doubt in- 
spired by visits to Lovell's or Love- 
well's Pond, which was near Hiram 
where his grandfather Wadsworth 
lived, and where the event in New 
England history known as "Love- 
well's Fight" with the Indians oc- 
curred. The story made a deep 
impression on his mind and found 
utterance in the poem. It was in 
the darkness of a chill November 



34 



evening that the timid lad, with 
much misgiving of heart, dropped 
into the letter box at the foot of 
Exchange street the first expres- 
sion of his poetic soul. His sister 
Anne shared his confidence and to- 
gether they waited impatiently for 
the next issue of the paper, a semi- 
weekly. At last it came, but they 
were obliged to wait until their fa- 
ther had slowly read it, — but when 
they did get it, — yes, the poem was 
there : 

THE BATTLE OF LOVELL^S POND. 

Cold, cold is the north wind and 
rude is the blast 

That sweeps like a hurricane 
loudly and fast. 

As it waves through the tall wav- 
ing pines lone and drear, 



35 



Sighs a requiem sad o'er the war- 
rior's bier. 

The war-whoop is still, and the 

savage's yell 
Has sunk into silence along the 

wild dell ; 
The din of the battle, the tumult, 

is o'er 
And the war-clarion's voice is now 

heard no more. 

The warriors that fought for their 

country — and bled, 
Have sunk to their rest ; the damp 

earth is their bed ; 
No stone tells the place where their 

ashes repose, 
Nor points out the spot from the 

graves of their foes. 



36 



They died in their glory, sur- 
rounded by fame, 

And victory's loud trump their 
death did proclaim; 

They are dead; but they live in 
each Patriot's breast, 

And their names are engraven on 
honor's bright crest. 

There were satisfaction and un- 
told delight in the faces of both as 
they finished reading and we are 
told that Henry re-read it many 
times, each time with increasing 
satisfaction. With a heart full of 
the joy of success he that evening 
visited the home of his father's 
friend. Judge Mellen, whose son 
Frederic was his own friend. The 
conversation after a time chanced 



37 



upon poetry and the Judge re- 
marked: "Did you see that piece 
in to-day's paper? Very stiff, more- 
over it is all borrowed, every word 
of it." Poor sensitive lad ! how his 
heart shrank within him. He left 
the house as quickly as possible, 
and there were tears on his pillow 
that night. 



CHAPTER III. 

EDUCATION AND TRAVELS. 

The "district of Maine" was sep- 
arated from Massachusetts and ad- 
mitted into the Union on the same 
terms as the original states, on 
March 15, 1820, and there at once 
sprang up great pride in the state 
institutions. Bowdoin College, 
then in its second decade, was one 
of these and the father of Long- 
fellow a valued trustee. Being a 
graduate of Harvard himself it 
might be supposed that when the 
selection of a college for his sons 
was to be made, the choice would 
be in favor of the older one. The 
local pride before mentioned may 
have been a factor in determining 
upon 3owdoin, but whatever the 
(38) 



39 



reason, we know that in 1821 
Henry and his brother Stephen 
successfully passed the entrance ex- 
amination for that institution. Dur- 
ing the first year they studied at 
home — perhaps on account of 
Henry's youth — and did not go to 
Brunswick until the autumn of 
1822. The brothers occupied a 
room in the house of the Rev. Mr. 
Titcomb on Federal street, the 
same house in which Harriet 
Beecher Stowe afterward wrote 
Uncle Tom's Cabin. They were 
evidently not surrounded with 
much luxury for the mother wrote : 
"I am sorry to find that your room 
is cold. I fear learning will not 
flourish, nor your ideas properly 
expand, in a frosty atmosphere; 
and I fear the Muses will not visit 



40 



you, and that I shall have no poetic 
effusion presented on New Year's 
Day." 

The same traits that made Henry 
a lovable boy manifested themselves 
and made him a favorite youth. 
Letters from professors, classmates, 
and friends all unite in loving trib- 
ute to him. In his correspondence 
with his family we have glimpses 
of what he was doing and thinking. 
'T have this evening been reading 
a few pages in Gray's Odes. I am 
very much pleased with them," he 
writes; and again, "I am in favor 
of letting each one think for him- 
self, and I am very much pleased 
with Gray's poems. Dr. Johnson to 
the contrary notwithstanding." 
Again : ''We commenced Locke on 
the Human Understanding more 



41 



than a week since. I find it thus 
far neither remarkably hard nor un- 
interesting. I began with the de- 
termination to Hke it at any rate, 
and so get on very easily." Ah ! 
Henry, that last sentence is the key- 
note to success in any undertaking, 
*'a determination to like it at any 
rate." During these years in col- 
lege "the Muse" did not desert him 
and he continued to contribute to 
the Portland paper and also wrote 
some prose articles for the Ameri- 
can Monthly magazine of Phila- 
delphia. In April, 1824, the first 
number of the United States Liter- 
ary Gazette, a semi-monthly, ap- 
peared; in November a poem on 
Thanksgiving was published signed 
with the initials which afterward 
became so familiar, H. W. L. Six- 



42 



teen poems followed in succeeding 
numbers of the magazine. From 
these, five were selected by the au- 
thor to be reprinted in his first vol- 
ume of verse, Voices of the Night. 
The vacations were generally spent 
at home and there can be no doubt 
of the welcome Longiellow re- 
ceived. His brother says that 
"'Portland then, as since, was noted 
for the beauty of its ladies, and to 
them the young and susceptible 
poet did not fail to render a ro- 
mantic homage." 

Just as the standard of a nation is 
judged by the place accorded to its 
women so the true man can be 
judged by his homage to true wo- 
manhood, and a companion of 
Longfellow writes: "You were 
ever ^ an admirer of the sex; but 



43 



they seemed to you something holy, 
— to be gazed at and talked with, 
and nothing further," and his 
brother says, "this chivalrous feel- 
ing towards women was all his life 
characteristic of him; and it might 
have been said of him, as it was of 
Villemain, that 'whenever he spoke 
to a woman it was as if offering her 
a bouquet of flowers/ " 

The last years of college were 
full of the question of a future life 
work. In writing to George W. 
Wells he says : "Somehow, and yet 
I hardly know why, I am unwilling 
to study any profession. I can not 
make a lawyer of any eminence, be- 
cause I have not a talent for argu- 
ment ; I am not good enough for a 
minister — and as to physic, I ut- 



44 



terly and absolutely abhor it." To 
his father who had selected the law 
as a profession for him he writes: 
'*In thinking to make a lawyer of 
me, I fear you thought more par- 
tially than justly. I do not for my 
own part, imagine that such a coat 
would suit me. I hardly think na- 
ture designed me for the bar, or the 
pulpit, or the dissecting room." 

The real desire of his heart is 
disclosed in a later letter to his 
father. "I want to spend one year 
at Cambridge for the purpose of 
reading history, and of becoming 
familiar with the best authors in 
polite literature. * =i< * After 
leaving Cambridge, I would attach 
myself to some literary periodical 
publication, by which I could main- 
tain inyself . * * * the fact is I most 



45 



eagerly aspire after future emi- 
nence in literature; my whole soul 
burns most ardently for it, and 
every earthly thought centers in it." 

Longfellow graduated in 1825 in 
the most distinguished class ever 
sent out from Bowdoin college. 
Hawthorne, Franklin Pierce, J. S. 
C. Abbott, J. W. Bradbury, and 
Jonathan Cilley were among the 
members. 

Longfellow's immediate future 
was made possible by the founding 
of a professorship of Modern Lan- 
guages toward which Madame 
Bowdoin had contributed a thou- 
sand dollars. The peculiar elegance 
of a translation by him of an ode of 
Horace had attracted the attention 
of a member of the board, Mr. 
Benjamin Orr, who presented his 



46 



name for the new chair. The joy 
of the young graduate can better 
be imagined than described when 
his father returned from the meet- 
ing of the board with the proposal 
that he go abroad to better fit him- 
self for the position with the un- 
derstanding that he be appointed 
to the professorship upon his re- 
turn. 

As the autumn and winter were 
unfavorable for a sea-voyage in a 
sailing packet — then the only 
means of ocean travel — Longfel- 
low studied in his father's law 
office. If the reader will refer to 
the picture of the Longfellow 
house he will see on the right-hand 
side a small addition to the house 
proper which was built as an err- 



47 



trance to the office and is also 
known as "the Httle room" in which 
Longfellow wrote much during that 
winter of waiting. He, with some 
of his classmates and fellow stu- 
dents in the law office, tried to write 
a series of papers for the Portland 
Advertiser, something like the Sal- 
magundi papers of Irving. The 
authorship was kept a profound se- 
cret and the readers mystified if not 
profited. 

Shortly before sailing, in a letter 
to Miss Doane, he wrote: "My 
reading leads me to think that it is 
with thoughts as with money : those 
who have most appear before the 
world in a plain dress; those who 
have little dash out in tawdry splen- 
dor." The truth of this thought 



48 



is still so self-evident in the begin- 
ning of the twentieth century that 
it might be held as an axiom. 

Longfellow bade adieu to his 
home and friends just as the fitful 
showers of April, 1826, were giving 
place to the more faithful sunshine 
of May. It must be remembered 
that he was only nineteen years of 
age, that he was to be absent for 
three years, that crossing the ocean 
was not then the common event 
that it is to-day, and that there 
were then no magnificent floating 
palaces propelled by steam. He 
spent a little time in Boston where 
he received the last letters from 
home; his mother's full of solici- 
tude and his father's of wise coun- 
sel. While awaiting the sailing of 
the packet-ship from New York he 



49 



visited Philadelphia. In going 
about that city of Brotherly Love 
"he came upon the pleasant enclos- 
ure of the Pennsylvania Hospital" 
which, many years after, he made 
the scene of the last meeting of 
Evangeline and Gabriel. 

On May 15 the vessel on which 
he was a passenger sailed for Haver 
de Grace and on June 15 just a 
month later, he writes to his 
mother: "I have at length reached 
the shores of the Old World. 
We arrived yesterday at four 
o'clock P. M., and I employ the 
first leisure moment to send you 
tidings of my safety." 

The travels and study in France, 
Spain, Italy, and Germany were 
now begun which were to prepare 
him more thoroughly for his pro- 



50 



fessorship in Bowdoin. While in 
Gottingen during his last year 
abroad he commenced he says, "a 
kind of Sketch-B'ook of scenes of 
France, Spain, and Italy." These 
"Sketches" were afterward elabor- 
ated into Outre-Mer, A Pilgrimage 
beyond the Sea, and will be spoken 
of more fully in another chapter. 



CHAPTER IV. 

PROSE WORKS^ MARRIAGE^ CALL TO 
HARVARD. 

If the nobleness, gentleness, and 
purity of the character of Longfel- 
low have been dwelt upon some- 
what at length it has been with a 
purpose. 

When we look into the lives of 
many of the poets we might be led 
to suppose that the highest form 
of poetic expression is the result of 
tragic living and questionable en- 
vironment. The fierce, passionate 
outbursts of Byron, the ravings of 
Poe, the lovesongs of Burns, the 
lyrics of Shelley, and the produc- 
tions of many others might foster 
this belief. To know that there are 
some who, like Tennyson, Brown- 
(51) 



52 



ing, Wordsworth, Longfellow, Bry- 
ant, Lowell, and others, have reach- 
ed and kept a place high on the lad- 
der of fame without this element is 
gratifying and encouraging. No 
one is ever true to himself or his 
God who does not constantly keep 
in view the highest ideals and strive 
to live as nearly up to them as 
possible; but if, in the struggle, he 
falls below the heights and occupies 
some lower ground with a life of 
truth and goodness, the result of 
his best endeavor, who shall say 
that it is not infinitely better than 
reaching the topmost intellectual 
pinnacle by devious paths and start- 
ling the world from his dizzy place 
by perfect poetry from an impure 
soul? 



53 



Critics say that Longfellow was 
not "grand," or "profound," or "in- 
tensely individual," or even "strik- 
ingly original," that "he uttered 
nothing that we did not already 
know." If he was not "profound" 
neither was he obscure, and sim- 
plicity is ofttimes greater than 
grandeur. On this subject a writer 
in the Boston Transcript says: 

"Against the strained, esoteric 
subtleties of the latest vogue in 
English poetry, we are backing the 
very simplicity of Longfellow's 
verses for a hale and hearty immor- 
tality. Let some of the riddled ad- 
mirers of unintelligible phrases to 
set forth indescribable 'agony' set 
themselves down to tell a straight- 
forward story as effectively and 
dramatically as he has done in 
many examples, and they will find 



54 



the art that conceals art in his work 
to be of the rarest and finest." 

If he was not "individual" or 
'"original" he was sympathetic and 
true and gentle and good, and 
*'sang himself into the hearts of 
the people" by the beauty and pur- 
ity of his own life reflected in his 
poetry. "He was a singer in all 
keys" and his poetry is "the gospel 
of good will set to music." 

Before looking more closely into 
the poetry of Longfellow it may be 
interesting to know something 
more of his prose works. In the 
larger life which he lived "beyond 
the sea" Longfellow's literary im- 
pulses received an impetus which 
resulted in the "Sketches" before 
mentioned. There can be no doubt 



55 



that the impression made upon him 
by Irving's Sketchbook had its 
influence upon his own production^ 
and yet it is as distinctively Long- 
fellow's as the Sketchbook is Ir- 
ving's. 

Upon his return from abroad, in 
1829, where he had made himself 
master of several languages, and 
had stored his mind with the litera- 
ture of each of the four countries 
in which he had passed the last 
three years, he assumed the duties 
of professor of modern languages 
in Bowdoin College for which he 
had so thoroughly prepared himself. 
While there he found time, in ad- 
dition to his regular work, to write 
critical essays on foreign literature, 
to prepare a Spanish grammar for 



56 



his pupils, and to revise and elab- 
orate the ''Sketches" into Outre- 
Mer: A Pilgrimage beyond the 
Sea. The book was published in 
Brunswick from the press of Mr. 
Joseph Griffin whose foreman was 
Mr. Theodore S. McLellan who 
passed his ninety-first birthday on 
December ii, 1901. Mr. McLel- 
lan's home was next to that of the 
Rev. Mr. Titcomb where Longfel- 
low roomed as a student and the 
man now in the twilight of life still 
loves to tell of the boy "who was a 
favorite with every one." 

In a personal letter to the author 
dated January 3, 1902, Mr. Mc- 
Lellan relates an amusing incident 
regarding the publication of 
Outre-Mer. Believing that it will 
be of interest to lovers of Long- 



57 



fellow the following extract is 
given : 

"I was foreman in the printing 
office and did most of the press work 
and the largest part of the type work 
on Oiitre-Mer. Two of the female 
compositors did part of the type 
work and it was necessary to cut 
the manuscript in order to give 
them 'a set' commencing and end- 
ing with a paragraph. 

"Longfellow did not like to have 
his copy cut. It was written on old 
style letter paper, and the copy of 
each form stitched together. One 
day he wrote at the end of the 
copy : 

'Mr. Griffin! Mr. Griffin! 

If you let the devil "Theodore" 
Tear my copy any more 

I'll destroy him in a Jiffin.' 

"I used to read the 'galley' 
proof and correct the typographical 
errors and make up the form. The 



58 



second proof was corrected by Mr. 
Griffin, and I read the copy. The 
third proof was sent to Longfellow 
who had told me if he did not re- 
turn it in half an hour we could 
strike off the form. I set up the 
verse in type which he had written 
about me and added it to the proof- 
sheet. He was at the office in much 
less than a half hour, much excited, 
fearing we would print the form 
with the verse attached, but I had 
taken it out." 

Outre-Mer is the record of his 
pilgrimage beyond the sea and is 
told in a simple, pleasing style. 

One other event of great import- 
ance occurred during Longfellow's 
residence in Brunswick. In Sep- 
tember, 1 83 1, he was united in mar- 
riage to Mary Storrer Potter of 
Portland, a refined, highly educated, 



59 



and charming woman. The house 
where they spent the first years of 
their united Hves still stands on 
Federal street shaded by old elms. 
Longfellow himself gives a picture 
of his study there. He says : 

"June 23. 1 can almost fancy my- 
self in Spain, the morning is so 
soft and beautiful. The tesselated 
shadow of the honeysuckle lies mo- 
tionless upon my study floor, as if 
it were a figure in the carpet; and 
through the open window comes 
the fragrance of the wild briar and 
the mock orange. The birds are 
caroling in the trees, and their 
shadows flit across the window as 
they dart to and fro in the sun- 
shine; while the murmur of the 
bee, the cooing of the doves from 
the eaves, and the whirring of a little 
hummins: bird that has its nest in 



6o 



the honeysuckle, send up a sound 
of joy to meet the rising sun." 

In December 1834 at the sugges- 
tion of Professor George Ticknor, 
Harvard extended an invitation to 
Longfellow to fill the chair of mod- 
ern languages and literature from 
which the former wished to retire. 
At the same time he was given per- 
mission to study abroad if neces- 
sary. He gladly accepted and, ac- 
companied by Mrs. Longfellow, 
sailed for Europe early in 1835. 

While in Amsterdam in October 
of that same year Mrs. Longfellow 
was taken seriously ill. After re- 
covering somewhat she was able to 
go on to Rotterdam when she again 
became very ill and died November 
29, 1835. This great sorrow fell 
with crushing weight upon the de- 



6i 



voted husband and one of his most 
tender and beautiful poems, Foot- 
steps of Angels, immortalizes the 
memory of her whose life had 
brightened and made fuller and 
richer his own for four short years. 

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 

When the hours of day are num- 
bered, 
And the voices of the night 
Wake the better soul, that slum- 
bered, 
To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 
Enter at the open door; 



62 



The beloved, the true hearted, 
Come to visit me once more; 

He, the young and strong, who 
cherished 

Noble longings for the strife, 
By the roadside fell and perished, 

Weary with the march of life! 

They the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the Being Beauti- 
ous. 

Who unto my youth was given, 
More than all things else to love me, 

And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 



63 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes. 
Like the stars, so still and saint- 
like, 
Looking downward from the 
skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer. 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

O, though oft depressed and lonely, 
All my fears are laid aside. 

If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and 
di^d. 



CHAPTER V. 

LIFE IN CAMBRIDGE AND POEMS. 

The thoroughfare in Cambridge, 
Massachusetts, now known as Brat- 
tle street, was, in the long ago, 
called "Tory Row." The first 
house in the "Ro>v," built by Briga- 
dier-General WilHam Brattle in 
1740, in the midst of spacious and 
beautiful grounds, whose paths then 
led down to the Charles river, is 
now occupied by the Social Union. 
The "Row" consisted of seven fine 
estates, the second of which was the 
Vassall Place, this house being one 
of the oldest in Cambridge. Di- 
rectly opposite in 1759 Colonel John 
Vassall built the house in which we 
are particularly interested. At the 
outbreak of the Revolution Colonel 
(64) 



Vassall fled to England and the 
house was confiscated by the state 
and occupied by a regiment from 
Marblehead. This was the be- 
ginning of its historic connection 
with the army, which was kept up 
all through the long struggle for 
freedom. It served as headquar- 
ters for Washington from July, 
1775, until the evacuation of Bos- 
ton. During that time of gloom our 
first great president held many 
councils of war and pondered much 
on the outcome in the northeast 
room which is still held sacred to 
his memory. 

On January i, 1793, after pass- 
ing through many hands, it was 
purchased by Dr. Andrew Craigie. 
Dr. Craigie had amassed a fortune 
as apothecary-general of the Conti- 



66 



nental army, and he enlarged and 
greatly beautified the estate. His 
hospitality was unbounded, and two 
of his distinguished guests were 
Talleyrand and the Duke of Kent, 
father of Queen Victoria. His for- 
tune was so reduced by his extrav- 
agances that he was obliged to part 
with all of his large estate, except a 
few acres, before his death. After 
his death his widow found it abso- 
lutely necessary to add to her small 
income, and this she did by letting 
rooms to Harvard students and pro- 
fessors. 

It was in this way that Longfel- 
low, after returning from abroad 
and taking up his duties as "Smith 
professor" in Harvard, found his 
way into the house that was to be 
his home until he should enter the 



67 



"building of God, an house not 
made with hands, eternal in the 
heavens." Comfortably settled in 
the southeast corner room of the 
second floor, the former sleeping 
room of Washington, he was able 
to look across the meadows to the 
silent, winding river Charles, and 
on beyond to the city in the dis- 
tance. 

When Longfellov/ entered upon 
his duties at Harvard he carried 
with him the same qualities of mind 
and heart, the same gentle, noble, 
refined nature, the same quick sym- 
pathy that had so endeared him to 
all with whom he had come in con- 
tact in the years gone by. Cam- 
bridge was then dominated by the 
college, and its professors formed a 
cultured, social circle where he very 



68 



soon found congenial friends and 
companions, among whom were 
Ticknor, Prescott, Norton, Sumner, 
and others. 

During this year, 1837, with his 
heart still tender with a great sor- 
row, he wrote The Reaper and the 
Flowers; in June, 1838, The Psalm 
of Life, both of which are so fa- 
miliar to every boy and girl. Of 
the latter the poet says : "It was 
written in my chamber, as I sat look- 
ing out at the morning sun, admir- 
ing the beauty of God's creations 
and the excellence of his plan. The 
poem was not printed until some 
months later, and even then with 
great reluctance." Many have told 
of the comfort derived from this ex- 
pression of faith in God. 



69 



THE PSALM OF LIFE. 

Tell me not in mournful numbers, 
Life is but an empty dream ! 

For the soul is dead that slumbers 
And things are not what they 
seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
Dust thou are to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. 
Is our destined end or way; 

But to act that each to-morrow 
Find us further than to-day. 

Art is long, and time is fleeting, 
And our hearts, though stout and 
brave. 
Still, like muffled drums, are beat- 
ing 
Funeral marches to the grave. 



70 



In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within and God overhead! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of 
time : — 

Footprints that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate; 



71 



Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait. 

In the year 1838, Hyperion was 
begun. It was finished and pub- 
lished in 1839 and is really an ac- 
count of his second trip abroad. 
The inscription on the wall of the 
chapel of St. Gilgen, "Look not 
mournfully into the past. It comes 
not back again. Wisely improve the 
present. It is thine. Go forth to 
meet the shadowy future without 
fear, and with a manly heart," sug- 
gested the romance and became the 
motto of his life. Into this he wove 
personal experiences and laid the 
scene among the places recently vis- 
ited. One writer says that "he put 
into his story the pain, the passion, 
and the ideals of his heart. It was a 
book to touch the soul of fervent 



^2 



youth. It had much beauty of 
fancy, and it showed how deeply the 
imagination of the young American 
had been stirred by the poetic asso- 
ciations of Europe and enriched by 
the abundant sources of foreign 
culture." Almost immediately there 
followed the publication of his first 
volume of verse, Voices of the 
Night, which contained his recent 
poems, seven of his early poems, 
and many translations from the 
Spanish, Italian, and German. 
Hawthorne wrote that "Nothing 
equal to some of them had ever been 
written in this world — this western 
world, I mean." 

The next two years were years of 
hard work as instructor in Harvard, 
and yet he found time to pour out 
such-^a flood of pure song that when 



7Z 



his second volume, Ballads and 
other Poems, was published the 
impression made by Voices of the 
Night was so strengthened that he 
at once found himself the most 
widely read and the best loved of 
American poets. His nature was in 
no way changed by this love and 
praise, but seemed to expand and 
grow more eager to merit what he 
received. 

The close application of the past 
years made it necessary for Long- 
fellow to go abroad in search of 
health, and accordingly he was 
granted six months' leave of ab- 
sence, and made the journey which 
was so full of interest through Bel- 
gium, visiting Bruges, Ghent, Ant- 
w^erp, and Brussels. He afterward 
went to Marienberg-on-the-Rhine 



74 



to a water-cure, and there met the 
German poet, FreiHgrath. The 
friendship then formed between 
them remained unbroken until the 
death of FreiHgrath, thirty years 
later. Another delightful feature 
of this tour was his visit with Dick- 
ens in London in October. Dick- 
ens had but lately returned to Eng- 
land from, our own shores so that 
the cordial relations begun here 
were simply continued there. 

In October he returned home and 
while on the way wrote the eight 
poems on slavery, which were after- 
ward published in pamphlet form 
under the title of Poems on Slav- 
ery. No one can read these poems 
without feeling that the moral na- 
ture of the poet found expression 
against an evil that was corrupting 



75 



the public conscience and making 
miserable a race in no way respon- 
sible for its condition. 



CHAPTER VI. 

EVANGELINE. 

Delightfully located, pleasantly 
occupied, surrounded by congenial 
friends, Longfellow still felt the 
need of something more in his life ; 
the need of a sympathy beyond that 
of friendship, and accordingly on 
July 13, 1843, he was married to 
Frances Elizabeth Appleton, whom 
he had first met in Switzerland in 
1836, and whose character he had 
portrayed in the ''Mary Ashburton" 
in Hyperion. One could rarely 
find a happier marriage. Those who 
knew Miss Appleton speak of her 
stately presence, cultivated intellect, 
and her deep, though reserved feel- 
ing. After the wedding two weeks 
were ^ spent in Longfellow's apart- 
(76) 



11 



ments in the Craigie House, after 
which they went to Portland and 
Nahant to see the parents of both, 
the Appletons spending their sum- 
mers in Nahant. 

Following this the relatives of 
Mrs. Longfellow at Pittsfield were 
visited, in whose house stood the 
"old clock on the stairs" swinging 
out its Never — Forever. Accompa- 
nied by Charles Sumner a tour of 
the Catskills was another feature of 
this happy time. It was on this 
tour that, passing through Spring- 
field, they visited the Arsenal, and 
Mrs. Longfellow remarked "how 
like an organ looked the ranged and 
shining gun-barrels which covered 
the walls from floor to ceiling, and 
suggested what mournful music 
death would bring from them." 



78 



From this suggestion came the 
poem, The Arsenal at Spring- 
field. Vacation over^ they turned 
their faces toward Cambridge and 
once more went to the Craigie 
House, which was now their own, 
having been purchased by Mr. Ap- 
pleton for them. A little later he 
added the land across the street, 
which reached down to the river, 
and which is to-day the little park 
given to the city of Cambridge 
by the children of Longfellow on 
condition that it should be forever 
kept open to the winding Charles. 
As long as he lived he loved to see 
the children playing there, and 
never tired of the beautiful view. 

From now on for many years 
Longfellow's life was one of peace 
and joy and prosperity. His home 



79 



was filled with the gentle presence 
of its mistress, and their united hos- 
pitality always opened wide the 
door to friends. His daughter says : 
''All who came were made welcome 
without any special preparation, 
and without any thought of per- 
sonal inconvenience." Not to 
friends only was the door open, but 
to all who came to appeal for help 
or succor. His wife's dowry, to- 
gether with the income from his 
books, made it possible for him to 
listen to all such appeals and to re- 
lieve them, and ''his house was 
known to all the vagrant train." 
There can be no doubt that the ge- 
nial influences of this happy life 
found an outlet in his poetry. 

The Spanish Student, written 
some time before, was brought out 



8o 



in book form in 1843. In 1845 
The Belfry of Bruges and Other 
Poems appeared. Longfellow in 
his journal for November 24 says : 
*'Got my last proof from the 
printer ; so that my second boy and 
my fourth voKime of poems {The 
Belfry of Bruges and Other 
Poems) come into the world about 
the same time." 

During this same year Haw- 
thorne coming to dine with Long- 
fellow, brought with him his friend, 
H. L. Conolly, at one time rector 
of a church in South Boston. 

A parishioner of Mr. Conolly's, 
Mrs. Haliburton, had related to him 
the story of the separation of a 
young Acadian maiden from her be- 
trotiied at the time of the dispersion 
of the Acadians by the English 



8i 



troops. For many long years they 
sought each other and at last met in 
a hospital where the lover lay dy- 
ing. Mr. Conolly had tried to in- 
terest Hawthorne to such an ex- 
tent that the result would be a novel 
but in vain. Longfellow was great- 
ly touched by the story, and more 
especially by the constancy of the 
lovers, and said to Hawthorne, "If 
you really do not want this incident 
for a tale, let me have it for a 
poem," to which he consented. He 
seems not to have been able at first 
to settle upon a name for his story 
of love in Acadie, for, culling from 
his journal found, in Samuel Long- 
fellow's "Life," he says on Novem- 
ber 28, 1845 : "Set about 'Ga- 
brielle,' my idyl in hexameters, in 
earnest." Again, December 7 : "I 



82 



know not what name to give to — 
not my new baby, but my new 
poem. Shall it be 'Gabrielle/ or 
*Celestine,' or 'Evangeline' ? " 

Before his marriage Longfellow 
had overtaxed his eyes to such an 
extent that their use was impaired 
for years. Mrs. Longfellow was 
his faithful amanuensis and reader. 
On January ii, 1846, he says: 
"Time speeds away, and with these 
dim eyes I accomplish little." 
On the next day : "The vacation is 
at hand. I hope before its close to 
get far on in Evangeline. Two 
cantos are now done, which is a 
good beginning." Already we find 
him chafing somewhat under his 
college work and wondering if he is 
to be an author if it would not be 
wiser to be that alone. On February 



83 



27, i847> hs says: "Evangeline is 
ended. I wrote the last lines this 
morning." 

"Still stands the forest primeval; 

but far away from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless 

graves, the lovers are sleeping. 

* * * Ji« 

"While from its rocky caverns the 
deep-voiced neighboring ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate 
answers the wail of the forest.'^ 

Most critics agree in saying that 
the classic hexameter can not be re- 
produced in English. "The lan- 
guage is too harsh and unbending, 
and the quantity of English sylla- 
bles depends upon accent and is not 
unchangeable, as is the case with 



84 



the Greek." Notwithstanding this, 
Longfellow chose to write Evan- 
geline in hexameter, and the style 
called forth much and varied criti- 
cism. Poe attacked it without mer- 
cy. Hawthorne, Whittier, and Low- 
ell commended it highly. The lat- 
ter in his delightfully amusing way 
speaks of it in the Fable for Crit- 
ics in the following manner : 

*'I'm not over-fond of Greek metres 

in English, 
To me rhyme's a gain, so it be not 

too jinglish. 
And your modern hexameter verses 

are no more 
Like Greek ones than sleek Mr. 

Pope is like Homer; 
As the roar of the sea to the coo of 

a pigeon is, 



8s 



So, compared to your moderns, 

sounds old Melesigenes; 
I may be too partial, the reason, 

perhaps, o't is 
That I've heard the old blind man 

recite his own rhapsodies. 
And my ear with that music im- 
pregnate may be. 
Like the poor exiled shell with the 

soul of the sea, 
Or as one can't bear Strauss when 

his nature is cloven 
To its deeps within deeps by the 

stroke of Beethoven; 
But, set that aside, and 't is truth 

that I speak. 
Had Theocritus written in English, 

not Greek, 
I believe that his exquisite sense 

would scarce change a line. 



86 



In that rare, tender, virgin-like pas- 
toral Evangeline. 

That's not ancient nor modern, its 
place is apart 

Where time has no sway, in the 
realm of pure Art, 

'T is a shrine of retreat from 
Earth's hubbub and strife 

As quiet and chaste as the author's 
own life." 

Stedman calls it "the flower of 
American idyls," while Howells 
says it is ''the best poem of our 
age." 

Whatever the critics may say 
there are those who are thankful 
that the classic hexameter was used 
instead of the common rhymed 
English pentameter. Longfellow 
knew the storm he would call forth 
and, as if to justify his choice to 



87 



himself, put the song of the mock- 
ing bird into the latter. 

"^'Upon a spray that overhung the 

stream, 
The mocking-bird, awakening from 

his dream, 
Poured forth such delirious music 

from his throat 
That all the air seemed listening to 

his note. 
Plaintive the song began, and slow ; 
It breathed of sadness, and of pain 

and woe ; 
Then, gathering all his notes, 

abroad he flung 
The multitudinous music from his 

tongue, — 
As after showers, a sudden gust 

again 

* From Samuel Longfellow's "Life," 
Vol. n. 



88 



Upon the leaves shakes down the 
rattling rain. 

Compare this with the song as it 
is in its classic form in Part II, be- 
ginning with line 873. For "Ho- 
meric grandeur" read the burning 
of Grand Pre, Part I, beginning 
with line 613. 

Whatever the personal prefer- 
ence regarding the style may be no 
one can help being benefited by the 
patience, constancy, love, and faith 
so beautifully portrayed in this tale 
of Acadie. 



CHAPTER VII. 

POETIC ACTIVITY. 

The pathway of the poet is not 
always strewn with flowers for he, 
nke other people, has troubles pe- 
culiar to himself. The budding 
genius, with the temerity of youth, 
calmly and serenely sends his ver- 
dant ideas for comment and crit- 
icism to some one whom he greatly 
admires, but upon whom he has 
no claim whatever, whose long 
suffering and patience in this di- 
rection are not always recorded. 
Longfellow was not exempt from 
this form of torture, indeed his 
gentle, kindly spirit rather in- 
vited than repelled the earnest 
young worker. On one occasion, 
(89) 



90 



however, when he was unus- 
ually busy he received from an 
aspirant after fame a long poem 
demanding a reading and criticism. 
This was too much even for him 
and he says in his journal: 'T will 
do no such thing, unless Congress 
pass a special law requiring it of 
me." 

At another time a stranger wrote 
requesting him to write a valentine 
for him in answer to one he had 
received the year before from a 
young lady. Longfellow says, "he 
does not want to show the white 
feather in a poetic way, — and wants 
the help of my white feather." 
" Tlease tell me who was Evan- 
geline, what country did she belong 
to, also the place of her birth?'" 
" 'Did the youth in 'Excelsior' at- 



91 



tain his purpose, or die before he 
had crossed the pass?' " are ex- 
amples of the hundreds of questions 
written him. His kindly spirit 
prompted him to answer these but 
it was always at the expense of 
time and strength. 

The evolution of the American 
novel was slow. The conditions 
here on this new continent were 
not such as were conducive to lit- 
erary developement. The fight for 
existence was too strenuous to ad- 
mit of dreaming. The real was too 
tragic to allow the imagination full 
sway. The making of a nation was 
too serious a business for play- 
writing. When, in 1821, Cooper 
published The Spy we awoke to 
the fact that America had a novel- 
ist of her very own. In 1822 Miss 



92 



Sedgwick, in a Nezv England Tale, 
divided the honors with him, 
while Irving and Hawthorne soon 
made their initial attempts in fic- 
tion. The scarcity of this particu- 
lar kind of literature and the suc- 
cess of Hyperion may have been 
the incentives v^^hich prompted 
Longfellow to again write a tale 
in prose. Immediately after finish- 
ing Evangeline, early in 1847, he 
began Kavanagh which was not 
published, however, until 1849, 
Vihen it brought the following com- 
ment from Emerson : 'T think it 
the best sketch we have seen in the 
direction of the American novel. 
For ^ here is our native speech and 
manners, treated with sympathy, 
taste, and judgment." Hawthorne 
generously wrote: "It is a most 



93 



precious and rare book ; as fragrant 
as a bunch of flowers, and as sim- 
ple as one flower. A true picture 
of life." Notwithstanding these 
encouragements he never again 
published any prose tales. 

During the summer of 1849 
Longfellow was summoned to Port- 
land by the serious illness of his 
father who died August 3 of that 
year. "Farewell, O thou good man, 
thou excellent father," says his son. 
Leaving Portland by rail he saw 
the church yard on the hillside and 
he says he "saw the stones of the 
graveyard gleaming white; my 
father seemed to wave me a last 
adieu." His mother survived until 
185 1 when she too passed into the 
great beyond. 

In 1850 there appeared a new 



94 

volume of verse under the 
title of The Seaside and the Fire- 
side, which contained The Building 
of the Ship, Resignation, The Fire 
of Driftwood, The Singers, The 
Christmas Carol and eighteen other 
poems. The Building of the Ship 
is undoubtedly one of the most vig- 
orous of Longfellow's poems and 
has found a place in every truly pa- 
triotic American breast. 
**Build me straight, O worthy 

Master ! 
Staunch and strong, a goodly 

vessel. 

That shall laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave and whirlwind 

wrestle ! 

^ ^ ^ 

'There's not a ship that sails the 
ocean 



95 



But every climate, every soil, 
Must bring its tribute, great or 

small, 
And help to build the wooden wall ! 

"Ah, how skillful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command! 
It is the heart, and not the brain, 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who followeth Love's behest 
Far excelleth all the rest ! 
* * * 

"Day by day the vessel grew. 
With timbers fashioned strong and 

true, 
Stemson and keelson and sternson- 

knee, 
Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 
A skeleton ship rose up to view ! 
And around the bows and along 

the side 



96 



The heavy hammers and mallets 

plied, 
Till after many a week, at length, 
Wonderful for form and strength, 
Sublime in its enormous bulk, 
Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! 

* ^ :}; 

"Thou, too, sail on O ship of State ! 
Sail on O Union, strong and great ! 
Humanity with all its fears. 
With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate! 
We know what Master laid thy 

keel. 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs 

of steel 
Who made each mast, and sail, 

and rope. 
What anvils rang, what hammers 

beat. 
In what a forge and what a heat 



97 



Were shaped the anchors of thy 

hope! 
Fear not each sudden sound and 

shock, 
'Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 
'Tis but the flapping of the sail, 
And not a rent made by the gale! 
In spite of rocks and tempest's roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore, 
bail on nor fear to breast the sea! 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with 

thee, 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, 

our tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee, — are all with 

thee I" 

— From The Building of the Ship. 

In Resignation he voices his 

grief at the death of his little 

daughter Frances, and touches with 



98 



tenderest sympathy the hearts of 
thousands of others around whose 
firesides there is "one vacant chair." 

"There is no flock, however watched 
and tended, 
But one dead lamb is there! 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er de- 
fended, 
But has one vacant chair ! 



"Let us be patient! These severe 
afflictions 
Not from the ground arise. 
But often times celestial benedic- 
tions 
Assume this dark disguise. 

"We see but dimly through the 
mists and vapors ; 
Amid these earthly damps. 



99 

What seem to us but sad, funereal 
tapers 
May be heaven's distant lamps. 

"There is no death ! What seems so 
is transition; 
This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian 
Whose portals we call Death." 
— From Resignation, 

For many years Longfellow had 
in mind a more lofty and sublime, 
as well as a more elaborate poem 
than any he had yet undertaken. 
As early as 1841 he conceived the 
idea of the Trilogy of Christus, 
in which he would portray Chris- 
tianity in the Apostolic, Middle, and 
Modern Ages. In 1851 the second 
part of the Trilogy, The Golden 
Legend, was published giving a 



100 

picture of Christianity in the Mid- 
dle Ages. The third part, The 
New England Tragedies, was 
next written and pubHshed in 1868. 
The Tragedies were two in num- 
ber, "John Endicott" standing for 
the conflict between Puritan and 
Quaker," and "Giles Corey of the 
Salem Farms" telling of the witch- 
craft delusion. Both were intended 
to set forth Modern Christianity 
and "express the supremacy after 
bitter struggle of the divine spirit 
of charity as the central idea of a 
true Christian freedom." It was 
not until 1871 that he wrote The 
Divine Tragedy, the first part of 
the Christus Trilogy representing 
Apostolic Christianity. He says : 
*'The subject of 'The Divine Trag- 
edy' has taken entire possession of 



lOI 

me, so that I can think of nothings 
else." These three in their regular 
order were afterward published un- 
der one cover with the title of 
Chris tits: A Mystery. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

HIAWATHA. 

After eighteen years of contin- 
uous service as professor in Har- 
vard, Longfellow resigned his posi- 
tion on commencement day, 1854. 
He wore his black robes for the 
last time and "the whole crowded 
church looked ghostly and unreal" 
as a thing in which he had no part. 
The work had grown irksome be- 
cause of the tax upon time and 
strength required in its perfor- 
mance. Together with household 
duties and social environment he 
had- little leisure for the flights of 
fancy in which his poetic spirit de- 
lighted. 

While the past two years had 
been less productive than many pre- 
(102) 



103 

vious ones, we have some evidence 
of activity during that time. The 
Two Angels, written when the 
Angel of Life gave to him a 
baby daughter and the Angel of 
Death took the young and beau- 
tiful wife of Lowell — and The 
Rope Walk, belong to the latter 
part of this period. Just before 
giving up his routine work in the 
class room he began what was to 
be, in the opinion of some, his mas- 
terpiece, Hiawatha. Begun under 
the name of "Manabozho" it ended 
as "Hiawatha" and as Bayard Tay- 
lor says, "floats in an atmosphere 
of the American Indian summer." 

"With the odors of the forest, 
With the dew and damp of 
meadows. 



104 

With the curling smoke of wig- 
wams, 
With the rushing of great rivers." 

To those famihar with the Indian 
the peculiar and difficult measure 
of the Finnish epic in which Hia- 
watha is written seems especially 
adapted. The monotonous, sin^ 
song repetition is still heard when- 
ever they indulge in their own 
poetry and song. Longfellow had 
long been greatly interested in the 
Red man and had studied his 
legends. The Burial of the Min- 
nisink, found among his earlier 
work, shows the same power to 
bring out his traditions and cus- 
toms without offending the poetic 
sense as does Hiawatha while the 
little Shawnee woman in Evange- 



I05 

line charms us with her tale of love 
and sorrow. 

Is there anything more poetic 
than the East-Wind's wooing of 
the maiden until into a star he 
changed her? 

"Young and beautiful was Wa- 
bun; 

He it was who brought the morn- 
ing, 

He it was whose silver arrows 

Chased the dark o'er hill and val- 
ley ; 

He it was whose cheeks were 
painted 

With the brightest streaks of crim- 
son, 

And whose voice awoke the village, 

Called the deer, and called the hun- 
ter. 



io6 

Lonely in the sky was Wabun; 
Though the birds sang gayly to 

him, 
Though the wild-flowers of the 

meadow 
Filled the air with odors for him, 
Though the forests and the rivers 
Sang and shouted at his coming. 
Still his heart was sad within him, 
For he was alone in heaven. 

But one morning, gazing earth- 
ward, 
While the village still was sleeping, 
And the fog lay on the river, 
Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, 
He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone upon a meadow. 
Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow. 

Every morning, gazing earth- 
ward, 



107 

Still the first thing he beheld there 
Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes. 
And he loved the lonely maiden, 
Who thus waited for his coming ; 
For they both were solitary, 
She on earth and he in heaven. 

And he wooed her with caresses, 
Wooed her with his smile of sun- 
shine, 
With his flattering words he wooed 

her. 
With his sighing and his singing. 
Gentlest whispers in the branches, 
Softest music, sweetest odors. 
Till he drew her to his bosom, 
Folded in his robes of crimson. 
Till into a star he changed her, 
Trembling still upon his bosom ; 
And forever in the heavens 
They are seen together walking. 



io8 

Wabun and Wabun-Annung, 
Wabun and the Star of Morning." 

Do not many of us imagine we 
can see the hand of Kabibonokka 
as he paints the leaves in Autumn, 
stains the leaves with red and yel- 
low ? Who of us does not welcome 
Shawondase when he sends the 
blue bird and the robin and the 
swallow northward and fills the air 
with dreamy softness? 

On the way home after the en- 
counter with his father Mudjekee- 
wis, Hiawatha stopped to buy heads 
of arrows of the ancient arrow- 
maker 

"Where the Falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak- 
trees 



109 

Laugh and leap into the valley. 
There it was he saw the wayward 
Minnehaha 

With her moods of shade and sun- 
shine, 
Eyes that smiled and frowned alter- 
nate, 
Feet as rapid as the river, 
Tresses flowing like the water, 
And as musical a laughter ; 
And he named her from the river, 
From the water-fall he named her, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water." 

Upon reaching home he told to 
old Nokomis all that had happened 
in the meeting with his father but 
said not a word of arrows, not a 
word of Laughing Water ; was the 
nature of the Red man unlike that 
of his white brother ? 



no 

The gift of the maize, the friend 
of man, Mondamin, is beautifully 
told. 

When Hiawatha meets Megisso- 
gwon, the Magician, who sends dis- 
ease and death, and hears his words 
of boasting he answers ; 

"Big words do not smite like war 

clubs, 
Boastful breath is not a bow string. 
Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, 
Deeds are better things than words 

are. 
Actions mightier than boastings!'* 

which would be a very good answer 
to make to the braggart of to-day. 

*'As unto the bow the cord is. 
So unto the man is woman, 
Though she bends him, she obeys 
him. 



Ill 

Though she draws him, yet she 

follows, 
Useless each without the other!" 

The beauty and delicacy of Hia- 
watha's wooing must be read in its 
entirety to be fully appreciated. We 
can fancy the ancient Arrow-maker 
as he sits in the doorway of his 
wigwam and muses of the past, 
while youth looks forward to the 
future. Carved on one of the rustic 
bridges that spans the water from 
the Falls as it winds its way along 
wooded banks to the Father of Wa- 
ters, is the head of an Indian chief. 
It may be a portrait of the Arrow- 
maker, while the Laughing Water, 
as it smiles in the sunshine, is pic- 
turesque and beautiful enough for 
Minnehaha. The sylvan stillness is 
broken only by her gurgling laugh- 



112 

ter and an occasional cheerful note 
from a woodthrush. And here he 
wooed and won her. Then the 
journey homeward and the feast- 
ing and the singing and the story 
telling. 

Hiawatha, realizing how "Great 
men die and are forgotten," taught 
his people all the art of Picture- 
Writing. 

*'From his pouch he took his colors. 
Took his paints of different colors, 
On the smooth bark of a birch-tree 
Painted many shapes and figures, 
And each figure had a meaning, 
Each^ some word or thought sug- 
gested." 

The sweet singer, Chibiabos dies ; 
"He has moved a little nearer 



113 

To the Master of all music, 
To the Master of all singing \" 

The ghosts come and for many- 
days make their abode with Hia- 
watha and at last are discovered 
weeping because the living do not 
wish for the return of the dead. 

"We are but a burden to you, 
And we see that the departed 
Have no place among the living." 

Great sorrow comes to every one 
and 

"Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent. 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy." 

Famine and Fever fastened them- 
selves upon the lovely Laughing 
Water and she heard again the 



114 

Falls of Minnehaha, saw again 
her father standing lonely in his 
doorway, 

"Then they buried Minnehaha; 
In the snow a grave they made her, 
In the forest deep and darksome. 
Underneath the moaning hem- 
locks. 

Clothed her in her richest gar- 
ments, 

Wrapped her in her robes of 
ermine ; 

Covered her with snow like ermine, 

Thus they buried Minnehaha. 

^ ^- 'K 

"Farewell, O my Laughing Water ! 
All my heart is buried with you, 
All my thoughts go onward with 

you ! 
Come not back again to labor, 
Come not back aeain to suffer 



115 

Where the Famine and the Fever 
Wear the heart and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter!" 

Before the coming of the Pale- 
faces Hiawatha sees a vision in 
which he beholds his nation scat- 
tered, forgetting all his counsel and 
warring with each other ; yet upon 
the arrival of his white brothers he 
gives them hearty hospitable wel- 
come, and in his farewell bids his 
people listen to their words of wis- 
dom. 

**And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness, 



ii6 

Burned the broad sky, like q. prairie, 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splen- 
dor, 
Down whose stream as down a 

river, 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors, 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 
* * * 

"And they said, 'Farewell forever!' 
Said 'Farewell, O Hiawatha !' " 

One critic says that the hero is 
*'much more like an Indian King 
Arthur than is the Hiawatha of the 
original legends," but does that 
make the charm of the poem any the 
less? . If the poet does not idealize 
of whom can we expect it? 



CHAPTER IX. 

COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

As a descendant of John Alden, 
on his mother's side, Longfellow 
must have taken a peculiar pleasure 
in writing, The Courtship of Miles 
Standish. The poem is a true 
picture of the old colony days 
depicting with a pleasant humor 
the daily life of those brave men 
and women to whom Plymouth 
Rock had been "as a door step in- 
to a world unknovv^n' ' and was to be 
''the corner stone of a nation." The 
''doughty little Puritan Captain," 
the mast^ of the departing "May- 
flower," and the hero himself are 
surrounded with the pleasantries 
(117) 



ii8 

allowable in a work of "lighter 
vein," while Priscilla with the 
laughter in her roguish eyes as she 
says "Why don't you speak for 
yourself, John?" is a type admired 
by both sexes for her noble woman- 
hood and her womanly tact. Skil- 
fully and delicately Longfellow has 
shown the heart side of the Puri- 
tans. We are too apt to think 
of them as living for conscience 
sake alone, while in fact they lived 
and loved much as the world has in 
all times and climes. 

Plymouth rock was returned to 
the original landing place some 
years ago and is now permanently 
fixed there. Pilgrim Hall, Ply- 
mouth, is a most interesting place 
for here are collected and preserved 



119 

all the Interesting relics of the Pil- 
grims. 

The Alden case stands on the 
south side of the hall and contains 
John Alden's Bible, printed in 1620, 
and some ancient documents with 
his signature. Next to this is the 
Standish case in which is a pot and 
platter and the famous Damascus 
sword of Captain Miles Stand- 
ish; 

* * "his trusty sword of Damas- 
cus, 

Curved at the point and inscribed 
with its mystical Arabic sen- 
tence," 
that hung upon the wall of 
his house when he interrupted 
the ''diligent scribe" and asked him 
to do his wooing for him, at the 



120 

same time, confessing his fear of 
a woman's "No." 

"I can march up to a fortress and 

summon the place to surrender, 
But march up to a woman with 

such a proposal, I dare not. 
I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot 

from the mouth of a cannon, 
But a thundering 'No !' point-blank 

from the mouth of a woman, 
That I confess I'm afraid of, nor 

am I ashamed to confess it !" 

It is said that General Grant 
was much interested in this 
piece of steel when he visited 
Plymouth and handled it with 
much satisfaction. The Arabic in- 
scriptions had always been a puzzle 
until 1 88 1 when Professor James 
Rosedale of Jerusalem with a 



121 

troupe of Arabs from Palestine vis- 
ited the town and deciphered them. 
He pronounced them to be different 
dates, all very old, and the last he 
translated as follows: — 'With 
peace God ruled His slaves {creat- 
ures), and zuith the Judgment of 
His arm He troubled the mighty 
of the wicked/' This famous lin- 
guist had no doubt that the sword 
dated back two or three centuries 
before the Christian era. 

Just across the bay in Duxbur}^ 
on Captain's Hill, so-called because 
it was the home of Captain Miles 
Standish, is a monument to the 
memory of the "Pilgrim Warrior.'* 
Thus in marble and song there will 
be preserved the memory of the 
hero in war but the coward in love. 
And as long as there is young life, 



122 

wooing and winning and response 
ive hearts, John Alden and Pris- 
cilla Mullens will never be forgot- 
ten. 

On July 9, 1861, Mrs. Long- 
fellow was sitting in the library 
with her little girls, putting into 
small packages some curls she had 
just finished cutting. While seal- 
ing the packages a lighted match 
falling to the floor set fire to her 
summer gown and she was so se- 
verely burned that she died the next 
morning. 

*'*Three days later her burial 
took place at Mt. Auburn. It 
was the anniversary of her mar- 
riage-day ; and on her beautiful 
head, lovely and unmarred in 
death, some hand had placed a 

* From Samuel Longfellow's Life of 
Longfellow. 



123 

wreath of orange blossoms. Her 
husband was not there, — confined 
to his chamber by the severe 
burns which he had himself re- 
ceived. These wounds healed 
with time. Time could only as- 
suage, never heal, the deeper 
wounds that burned within." 

For m.any months he was not 
able to speak of this overwhelming, 
crushing sorrow and he never en- 
tirely recovered from it. All 
through the "Joiii'nal" there is the 
burdened heart cry of his grief. 
"To the eyes of others, outwardly, 
calm; but inwardly bleeding to 
death," he wrote. After his death 
there was found in his portfolio 
The Cross of Snow, written 
eighteen years after the death of 
Mr5. Longfellow which still 
breathed the changeless sorrow of 



124 

his life. However he was not em- 
bittered, not made cynical, but 
rather grew more mellow and gen- 
tle. He resumed the translation of 
Dante, laid aside long ago, after a 
time and later still began again to 
delight the world with his own 
poetry. 



CHAPTER X. 

TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN AND 
FLEUER-DE-LUCE. 

The Tales of a Wayside Inn 
were published in 1863, 1872, and 
1873, first, second, and third parts, 
respectively. The Wayside Inn 
still stands in Sudbury town, 
dispensing hospitality. In fancy 
we can see the group of friends 
around the blazing fire of wood, 
see the "ruddy glow" filling "the 
parlor large and low;" 

See it spread like a crimson stain, 
Over the small square window 

pane; 
Then creep slowly along the wall. 
And cast a halo over them all. 
(125) 



126 

First the landlord "grave in his 
aspect and attire;" then the stu- 
dent, the young Sicilian, and the 
Spanish Jew from Alicant; the 
theologian "from the school of 
Cambridge on the Charles,'' the 
Poet, and the Angel with the violin. 
And if we listen we can hear the 
magic music as it quivers forth 
under the famed musician's"^ touch, 
from the instrument in whose "hol- 
low chamber" 

"The maker from whose hand it 

came 
Had written his unrivalled name 
Antonius Stradivarius." 

And as the last wild melody dies 
away there is the "hurry of hoofs 
in a village street" and we hear the 

* Tlie Musician was Ole Bull. 



127 

Landlord telling of Paul Revere 

and his wonderful ride. Each tells 
his tale, the fire burns low, the 
shadows deepen, the clock strikes 
one, and the good nights are said. 

While all the people portrayed 
are real and the Sudbury Inn looks 
as it is described to be the meetings 
never really took place. Three of 
the friends, however, spent their 
summers there. The Birds of Kil- 
lingsworth is the only one of the 
tales that was of the poet's own in- 
vention. While the others mav 
show a lack of inventive power 
they also show extensive reading 
and literary craftsmanship for they 
are told in his owm charming style. 

The translation of Dante ^ re- 
sumed under such sad conditions, 
was continued and placed in the 



128 

printer's hands in 1863. For two 
years Norton and Lowell met with 
the poet ever}^ Wednesday evening 
in his study for the purpose of aid- 
ing him in his revision of the work. 
Mr. Norton says they paused over 
every doubtful passage, objected, 
criticised, praised with a freedom 
that was made perfect by Mr. Long- 
fellow's absolute sweetness, sim- 
plicity, and modesty, and by the en- 
tire confidence that existed between 
them. Absorbed in this he pro- 
duced fewer verses of his own at 
this time. 

Fleuer-de-Luce, containing 
among other things, Christmas 
Bells, The Wind Over the Chimney, 
The Bells of Lynn, and Divina 
Commedia was brought out in 1867. 



129 

''I heard the bells on Christmas Day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good will to 
men! 

"And thought how, as the day had 

come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 
Had rolled aiong 
The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good will to 
men ! 

"Till, singing, singing on its way, 
The world revolved from night to 
day, 
A voice, a chime, 
A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good will to 
men!" 

— From Christmas Bells. 



130 

In 1868 Longfellow made his 
third and last trip to Europe. 
There was a large family party 
consisting of his son, just married, 
his three daughters, two sisters, a 
brother, and Mr. T. G. Appleton. 
The longing to again visit the old 
familiar places was to be gratified. 

He was the recipient of much at- 
tention while abroad. It was told 
him that the Queen would be sorry 
not to meet him while in England, 
whereupon, a day was fixed for 
his visit to Windsor. After a year 
and a half of rambling and sight- 
seeing we find him once more at his 
desk in Craigie House, "thankful 
to have brought his little flock back 
to the fold." ''How glad I am to 
be at home ! The quiet and the 



131 

rest are welcome after the surly sea. 
But there is a tinge of sadness in 
it, also." 



CHAPTER XL 

CLOSING ACTIVITIES. 

Although the years were adding 
themselves to the poet's life, silver- 
ing his hair and making more beau- 
tiful his kindly face, the poetic spirit 
had not grown old and he produced 
some of his best verse during these 
later years. 

As we have hurried along catch- 
ing a glimpse here and there into 
the life of one of our best loved 
poets it has been impossible even 
to make mention of much that has 
become familiar to every reader, 
such as Midnight Mass for the Dy- 
ing Year, The Skeleton in Armor, 
so full of fine imagination. The 
Wreck of the Hesperus, The Secret 
of the Sea, The Lighthouse, Sea- 
(132) 



133 

weed and many others belonging 
to his earher years. Bronson says 
that he has no rival save Walt 
Whitman on the subject of the sea. 
While he told in a graphic 
way of its terrors he loved best to 
sing of its beauty. As he M^atched 
the River Charles winding its sil- 
ver S down to the great shining 
sea, many thoughts, no doubt fol- 
lowed and lie buried in its depths. 
In 1874 The Hanging of the 
Crane, that beautiful picture of how 
'*a new household finds its place," 
was written and we seem to see the 
poet's own fireside as vv^e read, 

"O fortunate, O happy day. 
When a new household finds its 

place 
Among the myriad homes of earth, 



134 

Like a new star just sprung to 

birth, 
And rolled on its harmonious way 
Into the boundless realms of space !" 
— From The Hanging of the Crane. 

In July, 1875, the noble poem 
Morituri Salutanius was read 
at the fiftieth anniversary of his 
class at Bowdoin College. If those 
who are growing old would only 
remember that 

"Age is opportunity no less 

Than Youth itself, though in an- 
other dress, 

And as the evening twilight fades 
away 

The sky is filled by stars invisible 
by day," 

there would be fewer people retired 
because of it, fewer pessimists ; 



135 

more sunshine in the world, more 
happiness, and one would never see 
that most pitiable object, one who 
has outgrown his usefulness. 

Keramos was published in 1878 
and the Potter's song, as well as 
the rest of the poem, shows that 
the poet had not yet lost his power 
to tell in verse something of the 
philosophy of life. 

Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round 

and round 
Without a pause, without a sound : 
So spins the flying world away! 
This clay, well mixed with marl and 

sand, 
Follows the motion of my hand] 
For some must follow, and some 

command. 
Though all are made of clay! 



136 

Turn, turn, my zvheel! All things 

must change 
To something new, to something 

strange. 
Nothing that is can pause or 

stay; 
The moon will wax, the moon will 

wane. 
The mist and cloud will turn to 

rain. 
The rain to mist and cloud again. 
To-morrow he to-day. 



Turn, turn, my wheel! All life is 

brief ; 
What nozu is bud will soon be leaf, 
IV hat now is leaf zvill soon decay; 
The imnd blozvs east, the wind 

blows zvest; 
The^ blue eggs in the robbings nest 



137 

Will soon have wings and beak and 
breast^ 
And flutter and fly away. 
^ ^ ^ ^ 

Turn, turn, my wheel! . .This 

earthen jar 
A touch can make, a touch can mar; 

And shall it to the Potter say. 
What makest thou? Thou hast no 

hand? 
As men who think to understand 
A world by their creator planned, 
IVho wiser is than they. 

>K * * 5k 

Turn, turn, my zvheel! 'Tis na- 
ture's plan 

The child should grozv into the 
man, 
The man grow wrinkled, old and 
gray; 



138 

In youth the heart exults and sings, 
The pulses leap, the feet have 

wings; 
In age the cricket chirps, and brings 
The harvest home of day. 

— From Keramos. 

The Village Blacksmith is un- 
doubtedly a favorite with all child- 
ren because their childish imagina- 
tions are not strained to see the 
"spreading chestnut tree" under 
which "the village smithy stands," 
while the picture of him as "he goes 
on Sunday to the church" and hears 
his "daughter's voice singing in the 
village choir" is a familiar scene. 
How appropriate then that the 
children of his beloved Cambridge 
should present to Longfellow on 
his seventy-second birthday an arm 
chair made from this same chestnut 



139 

tree, whose spreading branches had 
afforded shelter from the sun's 
fierce rays for many years on Brat- 
tle Street, as a token of their love 
for him. From My Arm-Chair 
was written in response to the gift 
and is one of his most beautiful 
poems. 

"The heart hath its own memory, 

like the mind, 
And in it are enshrined 
The precious keepsakes, into which 

is wrought 
The giver's loving thought." 

There is no more appreciative, 
tender, charitable, and beautiful 
delineation of the character of the 
poet Burns than is to be found in 
Longfellow's Poem on Robert 
Burns, which was published in the 



I40 

volume called Ultima Thulc in 
1880. 

''I see amid the fields of Ayr 

A ploughman, who, in foul and fair. 

Sings at his task 
So clear, we know not if it is 
The laverock's song we hear, or his, 

Nor care to ask." 

The Chamber Over the Gate 
also belongs to this period and is 
full of the desolation that wrung 
from David the cry, "O, Absalom, 
my son, would God I had died for 
thee." 

Belonging to different periods are 
many favorites such as My Lost 
Youth, The Golden Milestone, 
Santa Filomena, written in mem- 
ory of Florence Nightingale, The 



141 

Children's Hour, The Bridge, The 
Day is Done, and many others. 

Longfellow's friendships were of 
long duration and strong devotion 
and many of his poems are full of 
the tenderness of them. Many of 
his dearest friends had passed over 
the river so dark and swift and he 
was left to mourn their loss. 
Charles Sumner was one of these 
and he ends his tribute to him with 
these lines. 

"So when a great man dies, 
For years beyond our ken, 

The light he leaves behind him lies 
Upon the paths of men." 

On March 15, 1882, Longfellow 
wrote the final lines in The Bells 
of San Bias which was his last 
poem. 



142 

"Out of the shadows of the night 
The world rolls into light. 
It is daybreak everywhere." 
On Saturday night March i8 he 
was seized with a chill and with 
his usual thoughtfulness for others 
would not rouse the household un- 
til morning. He became seriously 
ill, lingered a week, and passed 
peacefuly and quietly away on 
Friday, March 24, 1882. On 
the Sunday following he was 
buried in beautiful Mount Au- 
burn Cemetery where sleep so 
many of our famous dead. 
There was universal sorrow when 
the world knew that the sweet 
singer was no more and there were 
many expressions of it. The most 
remarkable tribute to his memory 
Y^'as the placing of his bust in the 



143 

Poet's Corner in Westminster Ab- 
bey in March 1884. He was the 
first American so honored and 
only Lowell has since been ac- 
corded a similar honor. Portland, 
the city of his birth, erected a 
bronze statue in honor of her il- 
lustrious son and visitors always go 
to Longfellow square to render to 
him the homage that he merits. 

Longfellow has been called the 
Poet of Childhood, and while this is 
a fitting title for one whose sym- 
pathy and love always reached the 
children, let us rather call him the 
Poet of the People, for certainly he 
touched the hearts of all with his 
simple, tender, earnest messages. 
That he is our best loved poet there 
can be little doubt ; that he is our 
most popular one is certain. 



144 

Miss Alice Longfellow, the poet's 
daughter, still lives in the Craigie 
House which is now better known 
as the Longfellow House. Her 
father's desk stands in its accus- 
tomed place with a few favorite 
books near at hand and his pen 
ready to pick up. But alas, 

''Hushed now the sweet consoling 

tongue 
Of him whose lyre the muses 

strung ; 
His last low swan-song has been 

suns:." 



CHAPTER XII. 

SELECTIONS FROM THE POEMS OF 
LONGFELLOW. 

Prayer is Innocence' friend; and 
willingly flieth incessant 

'Twixt the earth and the sky, the 
carrier-pigeon of Heaven. 
— The Children of the Lord's 

Supper. 

No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate, 
But some heart, though unknown, 
Responds unto his own. 

— Endymion. 

What I most prize in woman 
Is her affections, not her intellect! 
The intellect is finite ; but the affec- 
tions 

(145) 



146 

Are infinite, and cannot be ex- 
hausted. 

Your supper is like the hidalgo's 
dinner, very little meat and a great 
deal of tablecloth. 

There's nothing so undignified as 
anger. 

— The Spanish Student. 

Silently one by one, in the infinite 

meadows of Heaven, 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the 

forget-me-nots of the angels. 
— Evangeline. 

"If you wish a thing to be well 
done, you must do it yourself, you 
must not leave it to others !" 
— Courtship of Miles Standish. 



147 



The heights by great men reached 
and kept 
Were not attained by sudden 
flight, 
But they while their companions 
slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night. 
— The Ladder of St. Augustine. 

Each man's chimney is his Golden 

Milestone ; 
Is the central point from which 

he measures every distance 
Through the gateways of the world 

around him. 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

We may build more splendid habi- 
tations, 

Fill our room.s with paintings and 
with sculpture, 



148 

But we cannot 
Buy with g®ld the old associations. 
— The Golden Milestone, 

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, 
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, 

Our hearts in glad surprise, 

To higher levels rise. 

— Santa Filomena. 

Be discreet ; — 
For if the flour be fresh and sound. 

And if the bread be light and 
sweet, 
Who careth in what mill 'twas 
ground, 

Or what oven felt the heat, 
Unless as old Cervantes said, 
You are looking after better bread 

Than any that is made of wheat? 
You know that people now-a-days 
To what is old give little praise; 



149 

All must be new in prose and 
verse ; 

They want hot bread, or some- 
thing worse, 
Fresh every morning, and half 
baked ; 

The wholesome bread of yes- 
terday, 

Too stale for them, is thrown 
away. 
Nor is their thirst with water 
slaked. 

Do thy duty; that is best; 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest. 

— Tales of a Wayside Inn. 

No endeavor is in vain; 

Its reward is in the doing. 

And the rapture of pursuing 

Is the prize the vanquished gain. 

— The Wind over the Chimney. 



ISO 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and 

rest; 
Home keeping hearts are happiest, 
For those that wander they know 

not where 
Are full of trouble and full of care ; 
To stay at home is best. 

— Song. 

Wounds are not healed 
By the unbending of the bow that 
made them. 

— Michael Angela. 

Let us be grateful to writers for 
what is left in the inkstand ; 

When to leave off is an art only 
attained by the few. 

— Elegiac Verse. 



OCT 18 190^ 



